


Leliana's Mercy

by Kruger_Crows



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, DAI: Depression State, F/F, Leliana is working through her past issues, Mercia is very patient, Romance, Slow Burn, Tragedy, Warden was a big chaotically evil ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4993552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kruger_Crows/pseuds/Kruger_Crows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Set in a chaotic/depressive world state] After the events of Haven, a fire was kindled. What was this fiery sensation which she couldn't fathom? Of Orlesian, and Ferelden origin, this flame flickered within the darkness. It guided the Inquisitor, supported her. But who was it that soothed her? Her spymaster, Leliana. [Collab with Twisted Eternal Wolvetta]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Looming Motive

**Author's Note:**

> Leliana’s Mercy takes place in our custom made ‘DEPRESSION STATE’. This state is essentially a chaotic, and traumatic world. Many key events have taken place in Origins which has scarred Leliana and Cullen for life. For instance, the Ferelden Circle was purged, Redcliffe was abandoned, and Alistair was executed by Loghain. This means many characters from Origins don’t exist within Inquisition (Wynne, Alistair, Connor, etc).
> 
> Warden: Elissa Cousland (Warrior) slayed the Archdemon and is alive. She is “Chaotically Evil”.  
> Morrigan: She retrieved Flemeth’s grimoire after the Witch of the Wilds was “killed”. Before entering the eluvian, the Warden stabbed her.  
> Leliana (“Romanced”): Betrayed and “killed” after the Warden corrupted the Urn the Sacred Ashes.  
> Hawke: Marian (Warrior) has the “Humorous Personality”. Her behaviour is “Neutral” when making decisions. She fought the templars, and executed Anders.  
> Isabela (Romanced): She returned to Hawke, and wasn’t handed over to Arishok.  
> Merrill: She is currently alive, and didn't destroy her eluvian. Her clan also wasn't slaughtered.

**by Twisted Eternal Wolvetta**   
**and Kruger_Crows**

**To see what Mercia Trevelyan looks like, you’ll find the link on Twisted Eternal Wolvetta’s profile.**

* * *

 

The driving snow buried crystal just beneath her eyelids; Blinding until they melted to burn. Had the storm been brought on by that creature, or by utter chance? Was it a blessing, or a curse? Too many things to consider on a dying breath, Mercia felt chilled to the bone.

The fire sites she had passed were dead, not even an ember or two left. Nothing had been left to warm her, and her hand ached with a dull flame.

With her mark having almost been stolen from her, it had pulsed the whole way. The tension within her veins felt like her blood was on fire. Yet still she felt frozen within this snowstorm.

But at least she had given everyone a head start. Right…? Surely?

They had sent up the flare, they must be safe. When she brought the mountain down atop of Haven, she wasn’t sure she would survive. Was it relief or disappointment she felt when she woke? Even she wasn’t sure.

But for now, she needed to find them. All she needed was to know they were safe; Know they had survived, thanks to her.

If not, then what? She may have slowed the red templars, Corypheus, and archdemon down. But who is to say such a thing would slow them down at all?

Trees were thick around her, their bark having been stripped by the winds. There was a clearing, one she dared not even hope led to them. The snow was to her knees, and it was becoming harder and harder to trudge through it. The mark could barely flicker to life, and she crumpled to her knees with a shuddering breath.

The slope was far too steep for her. It was barely even 10˚, and she found such a thing bitterly funny. Upon the last of her energy, she caught sight of something- a light? Amongst the snow, she couldn’t be sure.

“It’s her!” A man called out, Cullen? Dare she hope they even made it? It was far more likely it was a rogue templar-

“Thank the Maker…” There was no mistaking the seeker’s accent, however. Mercia slumped further, the black edges around her vision closing in. All was clouded, and if this was death, she welcomed it with hope for the others.

Before the human Herald was even aware of it, she had tumbled into the snow. Not a second had passed, and she found herself unconscious.

* * *

 

**Leliana’s Mercy**   
**Looming Motive**

* * *

 

Warmth. This was the first sensation which greeted Mercia. For a time, her eyes remained closed, happily oblivious to her environment.

Was she alive? Was this hell? Heaven? She had no answer to give herself, and she felt no urge to discover it.

It was still dark; light flickering to and fro that reminded her of a fire. Torches? Perhaps even a roaring bonfire? Mercia slowly opened her eyes, startled at the crooked face of a crow perched atop her. It squawked once it noticed her awake, returning to its post by the spymaster.

Leliana…? She had lived? Who else?

From her position on her back, she could see very little. She could barely make the figures of Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine. Were they arguing? At a time like this?

Allowing her head to lower back down into the pillows, she sighed heavily.

“Are they bothering you?” A soulful voice from her bedside startled her, but she calmed. It was only the revered mother Giselle, looking apologetic.

“They seem like they’ve been at it for hours.” Mercia spoke, not surprised to find her voice weak and hoarse.

“A luxury granted by you.” The elder woman chuckled softly, peering after the spymaster’s crow. “I think someone may want your attention before you’re pulled into the arguments, however.”

The spymaster did? Glancing towards the redhead’s tent, she couldn’t see her. All Mercia could assume, was that the elder was praying. For how many minutes did she pray? Every time Mercia came across her, she was doing just that.

Another squawk sounded from the crow, and it ruffled its feathers. The fidgeting from the bird was halted, a hand resting atop its head. Feeling the burn of eyes against her, Leliana turned her head towards Mercia.

The two of them set eyes upon each other, and an awkwardness entered the Herald’s chest.

Had the spymaster sent her crow to spy on her? To know when she had woken up? Mercia was helped to sit up by Giselle, settling a hand onto her stomach. Her ribs were flaring, but she was certain there were no broken bones.

“Should I ask that she come to you?” The elder woman seemed adamant on doing so either way, helping Mercia only to sit comfortably. Giselle lifted a hand, beckoning Leliana over.

With light rattling from the woman’s chainmail, the Herald suddenly felt anxious. She didn’t understand Leliana at all. Maybe this was why she felt so out of touch with the spymaster?

The revered mother stood to leave them alone, nodding to Mercia. The noble woman held onto her stomach still, noting that her back was also sore. From the hit against the trebuchet, to tumbling into the shack… She wouldn’t be surprised if there was deeper damage.

Wounds she had sustained in the past had been much worse at times. So she would easily heal from this. At least she hoped she would.

Keeping her arm loosely hooked around her middle, she watched Leliana make a stand beside her. Tilting her head back slightly, she regarded the hooded redhead. What precisely was she supposed to say? She couldn’t just ask the spymaster how she was.

In such a situation, the answer was obvious.

“Was that bird to spy on me?” Her voice was still weak, barely above the sound of the fire. The crow in question squawked indignantly, forcing a wheezing chuckle from Mercia.

The spymaster smiled, but for only a moment. Above the distant sound of arguing, Leliana spoke. “You’re unsure of that?” Formally, if not through habit, she clasped her hands behind her.

“Not anymore.” Mercia’s lips quirked into a faint smile that quickly fell. “People have seen to me, right? I feel… terrible even still.”

“We cannot do anything for your sore ribs, I’m afraid. Even if broken, all you can do is wait.” Leliana replied, sighing as she lowered herself to speak more privately. “Why did you do it?”

Do what? Mercia frowned, pushing away brunette strands of hair. The redheaded woman was knelt beside her, watching her expectantly. Why she more or less sacrificed herself? Wasn’t it obvious? Or did Leliana simply want to know personally?

“Why?” Mercia glanced towards the others still arguing, giving another soft wheezing chuckle. “So that Josephine could indulge in another frosted cake, or so Cassandra can cut down another wave of enemies like she was slicing bread. So Cullen can sulk away from everyone, and so you could pray to the Maker, even while doubting.”

She took a breath, putting more pressure on her side. “You have all sacrificed something in some way… If I could give my life to save you, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Only a few months had past, yet she had bonded with them solidly. But within such circumstances such as these, it wasn’t surprising. They had to, else the Inquisition would’ve collapsed within hours.

Returning her attention to Leliana, Mercia’s brows perked. The spymaster seemed genuinely surprised, as though she had not been expecting such a selfless answer. “You… You’re easily the most important figure in this Inquisition. Why would you do that?”

“I’ve said why, I believe.” Mercia’s lips twitched, though Leliana shook her head.

“No, I think you’re lying.”

Why would she think this? The Herald watched her closely, unsure. Her expression wrinkled in confusion, studying Leliana. “I’m considered important by many. But if my sacrifice pushes the Inquisition forward, then so be it.”

Leliana’s brows furrowed as her gaze set sternly. “That is a dangerous attitude to have.” She finally countered, hands resting atop the edge of the cot Mercia sat upon.

“It may be, but only dangerous to me.” The noble rebutted, cocking a brow up. She had heard things, from the gossip within Haven to even remarks in Val Royeaux… “Is this about the Hero of-”

Maybe what followed had silenced the camp. Mercia wasn’t sure, but her cheek stung. Her head pushed to the side, she remained in this position. Blinking, she watched the spymaster lift, and turn away. Having missed the expression cast along Leliana’s features, she remained silent.

Instead, she unconsciously brought a hand to her cheek, watching her closely.

“Leliana? Did you just… strike the Herald?” Cassandra’s voice was thick with disbelief. The spymaster threw a glare towards the table, top lip curling.

“Oh, shut up Cassandra.” She bit, returning towards her tent. The tension in the air was palpable, but at least the arguing had ceased.

Mercia rubbed at her cheek, seeming less surprised than the other advisors. Josephine approached in an apologetic huff, offering a hot drink. “Forgive our ignorance, Lady Trevelyan… Is there something the matter?” Her dark eyes flickered between Mercia and Leliana.

“Gossip is unbecoming of a lady.” Mercia teased weakly, accepting the drink to nurse between her hands. Josephine colored, sputtering to no doubt apologize before the younger woman chuckled. “I may have overstepped a boundary. I don’t dare to repeat it.”

But still. Mercia had heard certain stories about the Warden. But who could say they were true? Such a reaction from the spymaster fueled her suspicions however. Exactly what had this supposed Hero of Ferelden done?

Of course she had ended the Fifth Blight. But what had…-

“Ambassador. I’m surprised to see you don’t have that checkboard of yours. Not even a candle?” Mercia’s lips twitched upwards. It lightened the mood, if only a little.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t able to save it.” Josephine appreciated the subject change, relaxing considerably. “I am sure I will get another, perhaps one decorated with strokes of viridian?” It seemed as though the Antivan woman was hinting, and Mercia smiled softly.

“I’ll make sure to remember.”

Trying to push the spymaster from her mind, the Herald continued. “So what am I needed for this time?” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “We shouldn’t be arguing at a time like this. Not with so much at stake.”

Cullen cautiously arrived, making a stand beside the Antivan. “We wouldn’t be arguing at all if it wasn’t for-” He cut himself off, giving a side-glance towards Leliana. He continued, his voice lower. “If it wasn’t for the spymaster. She drew her agents back, and the attack was utterly by surprise.”

Mercia heard a faint ringing in her ears, one brow quirking high. “Lady Montilyet, will you give me a hand?” She asked, struggling to stand even with Josephine’s help. The Herald softly thanked the elder woman, then swung a punch to the former templar’s jaw. As Cullen stumbled back to eventually fall, Mercia fell onto her cot from the exertion of energy upon the blow.

Cassandra stormed forward, stepping over Cullen to make sure the Free Marcher was fine.

“Herald-” Cassandra accused, only to be interrupted.

“No.” Mercia grumbled, watching Cullen clasp a palm to his bruised jaw. “No one’s at fault here. Only Corypheus and his red templars.” Shooting a glance down to Cullen who rose, she awkwardly glanced back up to them.

“I quite agree.” Josephine glared sharply to Cullen, her fellow advisor furrowing his brow. He slunk away, muttering under his breath. Cassandra huffed, taking a kneeling position by Mercia’s bedside.

Leliana had heard, and watched the scene. Her brows pulled tight together; the spymaster worrying her fingers on an opposite glove. Just what was this ‘Herald’s’ game?

Staring down at the left corner of her tent, she became lost in thought. Past events far too painful circulated her mind. For such a situation as this, what would they do? It felt far too similar to- she shook her head.

No. Leliana heard the conversation outside die down, and she lowered her hood. Perhaps she should… apologise? Though this seemed far too weak.

She had no reason to slap Mercia. Yet even still, the noble woman defended her. Perhaps she was… simply selfless with nothing to want or gain. It was clear that Mercia was nothing like…

Leliana closed her eyes, shutting those thoughts away. She would apologize at a later time. Mother Giselle had started to sing to calm their nerves, others joining in. Mercia kept at her cot, supported by both Josephine and Cassandra.

The Herald seemed to find the singing amusing, reeling in her expression to not be found rude. Her eyes kept towards Leliana, however. It was clear where her attention was.

It was unsettling. 

* * *

 

She should make an effort to distance herself, Leliana mused. She… did not desire to be hurt again. No, she wasn’t about to allow herself to trust somebody so easily again. Not after such a thing.

“Maker.” She muttered under her breath, edging towards the corner.

“You should rest, Herald.” Josephine jabbed gently. With a refusal added to injury, the Antivan huffed. “Sleep!”

“Do not make us knock you out.” Cassandra warned, though smirked faintly at Josephine’s glance. “Do not make me knock you out.”

“Much better. Herald, you need to rest and recover your strength. You can barely stand!” The Ambassador reminded, gently pressing against Mercia’s shoulder.

Almost protesting further, the younger woman sighed. “I suppose…”

What else was she to do? She couldn’t exactly do anything, and given their situation… Exhaling sharply, and regretting the notion, she winced.

“Perhaps we can find something to ease your hurts?” Josephine had saved the hot tea from earlier, returning it to the Herald’s hands. Mercia chuckled, lifting the cup to her lips. She could barely even do that…

Cassandra hummed, eyes roaming among who all had survived. “Maybe Madame de Fer knows a spell or two our healers do not?”

“If she does, I might kiss her.” Mercia sighed, resting her head against the pillows.

“Y-you would?” Josephine inquired, a flush setting against her cheeks.

“Figure of speech, Ambassador.” The Herald snickered under her breath.

* * *

Skyhold was for the most part, messy. Even such a word as this wasn’t enough to describe it. The place was in absolute chaos, and would take months, if not years to tidy. Years they didn’t have however. Mercia wasn’t even sure if they had months, let alone days.

But such a fort- a miniature castle, even. It was so heavily fortified, and even within the mountains. It was a rival to Castle Redcliffe, if not a few tiers higher.

Mercia was able to recover much quicker in a bed; The grand Orlesian thing no doubt bought by Josephine. It could have fit her, the ambassador, Cassandra, the spymaster… and probably even Iron Bull. Not that she wanted all but just one of those people in her bed…

Shaking her head, the Mercia cleared her throat and adjusted herself. Thankfully with such a larger keep came more help; Clothes washed almost daily. No more of those annoying pajama-like uniforms…

Least she could now move around Skyhold without looking like a dork. But right now? She was lost. In one of the underground chambers, she loosely crossed her arms. Though Skyhold wasn’t especially big, it was quite easy to get lost in.

These lower levels were in more disrepair than the rest of the fortress. One section was even slated for no efforts to fix it; condemned… Was such a thing safe for them? Well… if it hadn’t collapsed yet, surely it could withstand anything.

With the ambassador’s broad networking, Mercia was sure they’d get it sorted. That Josephine was like a force of nature when it came to political challenges. So she was sure getting the staff to repair a castle was nothing.

“Fancy seeing you down here.” Practically jumping out of her skin, Mercia shot her gaze towards a corner. Sera came into view from the dank darkness, and she shook her head.

“Don’t scare me like that.” She muttered, rubbing at faintly sore ribs.

“I can scare you in some other way, then?” Sera smirked, gesturing around them. “What the bloody piss are you doin’ around crumbly walls and mucky corners? I thought you hated spiders- Oh, there’s one now!”

“I am not afraid of spiders!” The Inquisitor shot, though glanced at the small thing anyway. The eight legged creature crawled on the ceiling, minding its own business. Either way, Mercia couldn’t help but feel suspicious of it.

She wondered why she even had a dislike for them. “Spending your time with a noble? How strange of you.”

“You aren’t bad. Only the piss biscuits get their breeches nicked.” The blonde elf shrugged.

“I’m glad.” Mercia gave a wry smile, taking a notable step away from where the spider was. She glanced around, not sure where she had come from. “I’m lost, Sera.” She looked back towards the elf, frowning.

“Er… I’m not someone to go all bleedy heart on, just cause I’ve got ears doesn’t mean I’m good at listening, and-”

“What? Oh, no, not that sort of lost. I don’t know how to get outside.”

“You, lost? Not enough shite and crap to jump over?” Though Skyhold certainly did have enough debris for such a thing. “Just come up these stairs, they- oh, that scary old Nightingale was asking for you.”

The spymaster?

“Wha- stairs?” Mercia furrowed her brow, stepping closer. Oh, there they were. “Huh… I could have sworn I’ve walked by this area three times without seeing those…” She mused, though shook her head. “Sister Nightingale is asking for me?”

“Nooo…” The archer droned. “Just get there before she loses it. She’s acting all strange.” Shuffling past the Inquisitor, she jabbed a finger towards the stairs. “Don’t get lost now, Inqy.” She grinned, entering further into the chambers.

Chuckling, Mercia ascended the stairs and hummed. Skyhold sure was strange, but it was strong. She liked it.

Entering into the main hall, the Inquisitor cocked a brow. That title had taken so long to get used to… Ah, but, Leliana was looking for her.

But here was another issue. Which door did she take to get to the top floor? Was it the third left…? No… “We need signs…” She muttered under her breath, staring up to the towering ceiling.

How funny would that be, though? Josephine would be absolutely appalled, and would no doubt order a steward to give her a tour… again.

Did that Antivan ever move from her desk? Mercia was actually beginning to wonder if Josephine was glued to her chair. The last time she had seen Josephine standing, was those two days ago. That having been when they had first arrived in Skyhold.

“Varric.” She hissed to the dwarf, the crossbowman arching a brow in her general direction. “Which door leads to the rookery?”

“...This one, Inquisitor.” He gave her a funny look, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. The door was at his back, and he chuckled to her blank stare. “Just through here, and up the stairs by two floors. You can’t miss her.” The crows alone would give away Leliana’s position. These days it seemed it was the only thing the spymaster was ever around. Birds and notes.

Finding herself climbing the stairs two steps at a time, Merica felt confused. Why was she so keen to meet with Leliana? Their last interaction hadn’t been the smoothest. But even so, here she was, practically tripping over her own feet.

Dorian had been listening to her scramble up the stairs, looking thoroughly amused. “She’s not going anywhere.” He stage-whispered to her, Mercia’s cheeks flush from mild embarrassment.

The Inquisitor ignored him after a subtle wave, turning to ascend the second stairway. She was out of breath; Ribs sore and screaming in protest from the trip.

Within this rookery, the squawking of birds illuminated the place. Absolutely everything apart from a lone desk was covered by cloth too. Mercia could only imagine the damage these crows created.

Having one abruptly land atop her head, she froze.

“Baron Plucky, bad boy.” The crow was taken from her head gently, a soft voice reprimanding the bird. He was released back towards the high ceiling, and Leliana turned towards the younger woman.

“Baron Plucky?” The noble’s eyebrows arched. Mercia quickly studied the rookery. Apart from the crows, it was just her, and the spymaster. Surely Leliana would have some agents up here? “...Any loose floorboards I need to know about?” She idly questioned, looking about the old timber.

“None if you know where to step.” Leliana spoke with a hint of amusement, though her steps did seem deliberate. Mercia followed her carefully back to the desk, curious.

“Why the call?”

“I think you know why.” The spymaster murmured, leaning against the desk. Scrolls and notes were scattered amongst it. At this point, Mercia wondered how Leliana could find anything. Her eyes wandered by to the hooded woman, and she tilted her head faintly.

“I’m sorry? I don’t know?” The Inquisitor spoke, glancing down to the note Leliana passed her. Cautiously, she took the parchment, bringing it closer to read.

_“The Hero of Ferelden, or more precisely, Elissa Cousland is the exact opposite of Andraste herself. She’s responsible for the purge of the Ferelden Circle, and the corruption of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. These are just a few horrors she has committed.”_

The note was so short, and simple, yet got the point across instantly. Stuck in place, Mercia blinked slowly, and looked up to Leliana. The elder’s back faced her now, Leliana staring down to the pages scattered around.

“Ah. The… legend is convoluted, then.” Mercia reread the page, unsure of what to say next. Corruption of the Sacred Ashes… No way Leliana would have stood for that, so…

“She betrayed you?” It was less a question and more a nudging comment. Mercia lowered the note, taking a step closer to Leliana. “Before this… were you two close?’

“Close is a one sided statement, Inquisitor.”

So it was betrayal. Placing the note onto the desk, Mercia rubbed her fingers to her lips. How had such information not come through to the public? Not even she herself had heard such things. “Had the Sacred Ashes been the last… straw?”

“I was blind.” Leliana bitterly chuckled, her voice sounding watery. Was she crying? “Blinded by love, by my hopeless thoughts that she could save the world, and put everything right. Her poisoning those ashes… It brought everything to light.”

The spymaster sighed, keeping her back to the younger. “She left me there, for dead.”

Left clueless with how to react, Mercia remained behind her. What was she to do? Would it be best to continue listening to Leliana? It sounded as if the redhead hadn’t spoken a word to anyone about this.

“Left you?” She frowned, guiding her eyes to Leliana’s hooded head. She watched the elder carefully, seeing a hint of skin.

“I attacked her when she poisoned those ashes. I was so overcome with anger at all of her decisions. She struck me down, and left me for dead. I did die though, I know it. But, I woke hours later, just alive enough to get help.”

“In the middle of the Temple of Sacred Ashes? How did you manage that?” The whole region had been abandoned, hadn’t it? Or had there been a few people in Haven? But still, that was a good day’s walk at least.

Musing over clouded puzzlement, the brunette leaned against the railings. A crow perched itself against her arm, and she looked towards it silently. Why were all these birds wanting to land on her? She shook it off gently, though it still gave an indignant squawk.

Leliana shook her head, Mercia barely catching the motion. “I ended up awake, outside of the temple. I have no idea how I got there, nor how I survived. Perhaps it was the Maker, not having finished punishing me…”

“Or perhaps the opposite?” Mercia inquired, giving up with the insistent crow. She regarded the black and red bird, merely getting a beady stare in return. “Though you may find believing in the Maker difficult, you still hope. You fear she may return- and she probably will. But imagine what we could do if we captured her.”

Remaining prone by the railings, Mercia could only watch the elder turn around hesitantly.

“If we captured her? Could such a thing be possible? She was entirely far too charming for her own good; Rather, for my own good. I do not even know where she could be.” Leliana gave a breath, catching Mercia’s gaze again.

“What would you want to happen to her, if we managed to capture her?” The younger woman quirked a brow, interested.

“Only the dead have that choice.” Leliana’s expression hardened. “But if I was given that choice?” She asked more to herself than Merica, the other nodding. “I would have her burn longer than what Andraste ever felt. Then I would throw her away within an inch of her life.”

“You would give her as much as an inch, hm?” Mercia quirked a brow, having an urge to nudge Leliana playfully. She thought against it, humming thoughtfully. “I would slit her throat, even after the burning. Just to be safe. You know what they say about witches.”

“Witches?” Leliana’s tone altered a touch. “Oh, Maker no. I knew a witch personally. They are rather… stubborn in their nature.” A tone of remembrance filtered across the redhead’s expression. “I met her during the Fifth Blight. She was aloof, and interesting. But she never went with my suggestions for her… strange fashion choices.”

“Mm, I didn’t mean any ill will towards those sorts. I meant… the ones in evil lore; What that Cousland sounds like. Not a witch in any right with magic, but rather in ugly attitude and soul.” Mercia explained, though she glanced towards Leliana. “Strange fashion choices?”

“The old crone with the potion? Like an ancient fairytale?” Leliana sat herself down on the nearby bench, and Mercia followed suit. She notioned the younger woman to sit down beside her, and she exhaled. “Tell me, have you ever heard of the Witch of the Wilds?”

“Stories, mostly. Nothing ever so… concrete.” Mercia made sure to give Leliana space, not wanting a repeat of Haven. She was careful in her motions, lifting a hand to cup her own chin. “Ranged rumors and gossip. Can you tell me more?”

“The witch I knew was one of the many daughters of the Witch of the Wilds.” Staring up into the beams of the rookery, the spymaster crossed a leg. “She could shapeshift into the strangest of things. Though her tastes in clothing was… questionable at best; she was probably one of the most beautiful women I had set eyes on.”

“Shapeshifting? Unless I’m ignorant, that’s not common for mages, is it?” Mercia quirked a brow, eyeing how Leliana was sitting. That couldn’t be comfortable with those greaves, could it? Then again, the older woman always seemed completely comfortable…

Was this thanks to being a bard, sister, or the Divine’s Left Hand? Perhaps it was all three?

“It is extremely rare. Perhaps almost as rare as your mark.” Setting her eyes upon the Inquisitor, Leliana studied her slowly. Her chainmail rattled as she shifted, the weaved metal weighing down fabric. With this movement, she spoke once more. “It is a forgotten art like the arcane warrior. Perhaps shapeshifting is only part of the Witch of the Wilds daughters? Maybe we’ll never know?”

“That is quite a lot to take in… But, my mark? Is it rare, or only one of a kind?” Mercia asked, laying her palm out over her own knee. The anchor sparked to life, the Inquisitor hiding it with a clenched fist. “That is curious, about the witch… What was her name?” She hoped to distract from the action, cocking a brow.

She knew this was an impossible feat with Leliana, however. How could she keep such a detail from the spymaster?

“Morrigan.” Leliana murmured, slender eyebrows wrinkling. She regarded Mercia’s arm quietly, leaning forward. She ignored the younger female’s discomfort, watching emerald spread.

“Morrigan? What a lovely name.” Mercia tried to dissuade from a closer examination, subtly folding her arms over her chest. The left she kept hidden, while fingertips of her right hand tapped along her shoulder. “What happened to her? Is she…?”

“I do not know.” The redhead glanced up to her sharply. Taking Mercia’s left wrist into her hands, she pried the arm closer. The notion pushed her closer, Leliana watching the mark cautiously.

“Ah…” She had been trying to keep its spread a secret. Since the Breach had been opened yet again, it had kickstarted the mark’s progress. Her veins were lit up in the sickly green glow, all the way to her shoulder.

“How long has this been happening? Tell me.”

What was she supposed to say? Swallowing, Mercia paused in thought. Her brain stumbled in how to reply, and she simply stared at the elder.

“Does it really matter?” She smiled instead, hoping to avoid the topic. “As Cassandra stated when we first met; Every time the Breach grows, my mark spreads, and it’s killing me.” Mercia shrugged her right shoulder, giving off an air of carelessness.

“Of course it matters.” Leliana frowned, her voice lifting. She pulled away from Mercia, and stood. A crow had perched itself atop the railings in front of them, squawking. “Has closing rifts improved it? Or is more power forcing it to spread?” She unhooked a letter attached to the bird’s foot, and read it swiftly.

The crow ruffled its feathers feverishly, beady eyes staring up at Leliana.

“Ah… Closing rifts relieves the pain of it.” Mercia shifted on the bench, tugging down her tunic’s sleeve to hide the spread. She stood, making her way to Leliana’s side. With a frown, she glanced away and towards the tall ceiling of the rookery.

“Perhaps it was a bad idea to become so close to you… It will only hurt more when I die.”

“Who’s to say you would die?” Leliana’s furrow deepened, pushing the letter aside. She turned to the Inquisitor fully, speaking clearly. “Maybe you were chosen by the Maker. Perhaps you are the Herald of Andraste. I was unsure, but now?” She still was.

Mercia chuckled softly, leaning against the railing where it was strongest. She shook her head, voice solemn when she spoke again. “Perhaps I am, but surely you remember that even Andraste died.” The Inquisitor closed her eyes, numbly reciting a verse from the chant of light. _“Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground; Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.”_

_“In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know your Light remains.”_ The spymaster easily recited, catching Mercia’s attention. Her gaze forced the younger woman to turn to her fully, her hands hooking behind herself. _“I have heard the sound a song in the stillness, the echo of your voice calling creation to wake from its slumber.”_

Was this the… Canticle of Trials?

_“How can we know you? In the turning of the seasons, in life and death in the empty space where our hearts hunger for a forgotten face?”_

Mercia listened, clearing her throat as she turned her gaze away again. “I’ll definitely need to refresh myself on the chants if I’m to be caught reciting in your presence again.” She teased, though even she could hear her heart wasn’t in it. “But, you are right. I shouldn’t become so… down, regarding the mark.” She lied through a soft smile, shaking her head.

With the pain and spread of the mark, Mercia knew that her death would be an end far too close for her liking. Perhaps even as close as defeating Corypheus… “I should leave you to your work.”

Blue eyes narrowed, the spymaster clutching her arm. She kept the warrior in place firmly, continuing. _“You have walked beside me down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me.”_ Pausing for only a moment, she wet her lips. _“I have faced armies with you as my shield. And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except your absence.”_

Mercia’s gaze bore deep into the spymaster’s own, the noble woman silent. It seemed she was considering something, flecks of the Fade dancing in green eyes. Lowering her gaze from Leliana’s, her attention remained upon the older woman’s face. Was there a deeper meaning to those words, or was it just for faith?

The spymaster’s tone lifted a pitch higher, snatching her attention tighter yet. Leliana was determined in this, for whatever it truly meant. _“When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me, and the taste of blood fills my mouth. Then in the pounding of my heart I hear the glory of creation.”_

Suddenly, upon this notion, Mercia realised what Leliana was attempting. This chant about the Maker strangely suited her life as the Inquisitor.

_“You have grieved as I have. You, who made worlds out of nothing. We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay, comforting each other in our art. Do not grieve for me, Inquisitor of All. Though all others may forget you, your name is etched into my every step. I will not forsake you, even if I forget myself.”_

Mercia returned her gaze to Leliana’s, raising her hand for the one on her arm. She gently extricated herself from the spymaster’s grip, smiling even so. “Thank you, Leliana… Though, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to confess something to me.” She playfully chuckled, hoping to leave this uncomfortable conversation with humor.

“What do you think?” The spymaster inquired, turning back to her crow. She notioned the bird to hop onto her arm, and it did so. “The Chant of Light has never failed me. Depending on the moment, it can be used to heal wounds a spell cannot, yes?” Drifting to the table, she set the bird atop the chair. “They heal numerous mental scars.”

“I have no doubt about that.” Mercia didn’t follow her, instead taking a step towards the stairs. “I’ll leave you to your work? I know someone must be needing my attention.” The Inquisitor chuckled softly, idling by. Was she waiting to be dismissed?

This conversation between them… Mercia couldn’t make heads or tails around it. She felt mixed about it, like there was something looming. But what was this? She had felt a… chemistry of sorts. But what was the true intention?

“The Inquisitor is always needed.” The hooded woman turned her head slightly, Mercia barely catching sight of skin. “Do not push yourself. I will meet you at the war table later tonight.”

* * *

 

**AN: This is a collab between me, and ff.net writer Twisted Eternal Wolvetta. We hope you all enjoy, and please, comment!**


	2. Engraved Fortune

**Leliana's Mercy**

**Engraved Fortune**

_**by Twisted Eternal Wolvetta** _

_**and Kruger_Crows** _

* * *

"When you said you were helping with this mission, I didn't expect you to  _physically_ come." Mercia murmured, Leliana following after them on her own horse. In this new region, it was mostly uncharted. It was a dangerous location, and one they couldn't conquer. The spymaster had insisted on joining them, so Mercia couldn't refuse.

"What can I say? I miss the sense of danger. Being surrounded by your agents does that, no?"

"Sense of danger… I could do with less of that." Mercia commented, eyes scanning the clifftops when they rode by them. She was sure any assassin threats would be dealt with by Leliana's agents nonetheless.

"We should set up camp, soon." Cassandra's voice jarred Mercia, if only for a moment. She was starting to think only Leliana was at her side. That was… dangerous in and of itself.

The Emerald Graves was a place they  _couldn't_ get lost within. It would be their death. This was also the heart of the Dales. So who knew what they could be up against during the night? Let alone the daylight they currently resided in?

"Just not near brontos, yeah? They stink of shite."

"You're only concerned with their smell?" Cassandra inquired, arching a brow with disapproval to Sera.

"The charging I can avoid, well, if I stand behind you." The elf fluttered her eyelashes at the seeker, Cassandra huffing a breath. Mercia chuckled, shaking her head as she surveyed the area.

"Let's find a clearing, set up camp there. Try not to… disturb the land, so much." The Inquisitor ordered, glancing to Leliana at her side. They hadn't spoken at length since the rookery…

This had been a good week or two. Perhaps even a month. They had been so busy with rebuilding Skyhold, that they hadn't had the chance. Perhaps tonight they would? Mercia couldn't help but begin to feel a connection with the elder.

For what it was, she couldn't quite describe. Maybe it was a similarity? Leliana had suffered greatly however, so it would be difficult. But hard for what, precisely?

"Cassandra, do you honestly let her flirt with you? That's such a far cry from when we first met." Leliana smirked, glancing back only briefly. A snuffling noise caught her attention, the spymaster's gaze returning to the front.

Nugs ran in the shadows beneath great trees, some to avoid the sun and others escaping them. Eyes lighting up, Leliana gave a quiet gasp.

Mercia heard, cocking a brow as she glanced towards the older woman again. "I think I saw a note that said you fancied nugs?" She hinted, a smirk dancing on her face.

"I do  _not_ fancy them." The redhead bit, but only softly. She only regarded the brunette for a moment, scanning the ground again. "They are adorable, but vicious when trained. You would not believe how well suited they are for torture."

" _This is why you don't prank her…"_ Sera mumbled under her breath.

Mercia chuckled lowly, watching one nug run into the belly of another. "They seem young, babies maybe?" She asked, not expecting a response. "Maybe we should set up camp around them. Any squeaks could alert us to an attack."

"Is that an excuse for Leliana's obsession, I hear-" Halting mid sentence, Cassandra tugged at the reins of her horse. The brown stallion clomped to a stop against thick roots, and stones. "There's something…"

"Piss! Giants and brontos up ahead!" They heard Sera alert, the blonde making off her horse quickly. The large animal quickly fled the scene, Sera retreating to the cliff edge.

"Whoa…" Mercia slowed her horse, slipping from the saddle. She spurred the animal to retreat, slipping her sword from its sheath. Her shield bracing her free arm, the Inquisitor surveyed the area ahead. "How many giants?"

"I count three." Cassandra spoke, having slipped from her horse as well. Her fellow warrior immediately surged ahead, no doubt planning to try and keep all hostile attention on herself.

The nugs had all but disappeared, and Leliana with her horse had also. Mercia felt an abrupt worry, but this was soon destroyed. An arrow flew just overhead from her right, the head crunching into a giant's eye sickeningly. The giant flailed in agony, chunky hands flapping to its head as blood spewed.

"Ew, gross." Sera grumbled from a distance.

"She hates the bloody bits." Mercia murmured to herself, though wondered if Leliana could hear her. As she neared to slice along a thick leg, she felt blood drip onto her back. They would need to find a stream to wash off…

It was astounding to even consider it, especially as the towering beasts thundered and leapt around. Let alone when the giants started throwing boulders, forcing the group to fling themselves into cover.

" _Oi, prissies! Take this!"_ The blonde elf shouted from her cliffedge, grounding a knee into mossy rock. She strung an arrow to her bowstring deftly, pouring energy into the projectile. Releasing the arrow, it was sent into a giant's chest, and into another's thigh.

With a trail of blood carried with it, a disgusted grunt sounded from the blonde. " _So gross!"_

"Good job, Sera!" Mercia called, surging forward with Cassandra. With the giants no longer lobbing boulders, they could strike. Capitalizing on the arrow in one's thigh, the Inquisitor slammed her shield against it to bury it completely.

Cassandra was on the other, and the ground shook as she felled it. Mercia tried to locate Leliana on the battlefield, but it was near impossible. Her giant staggered and she foolishly believe it about to fall. Instead, it had braced itself and swung its club wildly against her.

Maybe her shield had taken most of the blow, she didn't know. All she realised at that moment, was no pain. Instead, she watched the world whirl around her for a brief couple of seconds. Slamming into a nearby tree trunk, her breath poured from her lungs.

A shout from Cassandra carried in the air, and Sera was heard cursing sharply.

Her vision was screwed, but Mercia hadn't a clue why. She felt liquid running down her cheek, and curled her top lip. Was Sera pouring that damned ale on her again, for victory? No… The elf was too far away, so what was…?

She felt utterly dizzy, stomach tightening into a knot. Her sword had been lost, free hand burying itself into the dirt. Crimson drooled to mix into the soil; Dripping down from her head.

The environment around her faded slowly, but her heart instead leapt. A figure- Leliana stood before her, her back facing her. The spymaster had strung an arrow to her bow, sending it on its way. She did this until she was out, barely warding a charging bronto away.

In the distance, Sera and Cassandra barely managed to slay the second giant. The last was storming towards them, however, the brontos on its tail.

" _Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame. Andraste, guide me. Maker, take me to your side!"_

Those words… Mercia had heard them before, back in that awful future of Alexius' doing. A battered Leliana, barely alive and yet still wanting to help. She had sacrificed herself back then, so that the sick future would never come.

Vision turning black, the Inquisitor reached a hand for Leliana desperately. She couldn't lose her again…

* * *

Darkness. Was she dead? Reminded of the time she had almost died at Haven, Mercia's eyes shot open. Greeted by strands of red hair, she blinked slowly. A confusion filtered into her mind, clouding her senses.

Where was she? Leliana?

Tilting her pulsing head back, Mercia found herself in the spymaster's lap.

"Don't move." Leliana warned, feeling the younger wake. "Your head is still bleeding… My agents are tracking down a flower for a poultice to stop it."

Mercia blinked dumbly up to her, her eyes seeming dazed still. "Is everyone…?"

"Maker, no." Leliana answered, pressing an ungloved hand to Mercia's jaw. She pushed her cheek gently against her thigh.

With the notion, her head ached, but she took no notice. Realising this meant the spymaster wasn't wearing her greaves, her eyes glanced back up to her.

Leliana's tunic was loosely open, showcasing frilly cotton interlaced with leather. It fit her form snuggly, holding both a fashion, and protection from the undone chainmail coat.

"Then… everyone is safe?" Mercia's voice was a grave whisper. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't blink away the film over her eyes. It must be connected to her wound… She felt the blood, sticky and warm against her temple.

"I must be making you dirty." Her tongue felt thick and barely was able to be lifted; Speech slurring as consequence. "I can… move…?"

"I wouldn't recommend it." Leliana warned, cloth in hand. The material was soft, and damp. With this, she pressed it lightly to Mercia's forehead, smearing blood. "Do not worry about me, Inquisitor. I was never afraid of a little blood." Her lips twitched for only a moment, her other hand clasped to Mercia's left shoulder.

Even the miniscule pressure of the cloth made her hiss. Stomach flipping, Mercia strongly fought the urge to vomit. Her head was pounding, lips parting to release a weak groan. How much blood had she lost? She felt…

"I'm… cold."

"You have lost a lot of blood." Leliana remarked, leaving the cloth atop Mercia's wound. Instead, she went about adjusting her coat. Lifting the shoulder armour, she unclipped it, unbuckling the armour.

Mindlessly watching the notion, Mercia hadn't a clue what she was doing. The younger woman took shaky breaths, too deep for someone in such a state. "Leliana? Am I going to die?" Her voice was weak, with a frightened tone.

The spymaster paused, their eyes locking. With one arm out of her chainmail coat, she ignored it. Casting a worried gesture to the younger woman, she guided the Inquisitor's cheeks into her hands. "No, you won't."

Swallowing roughly, to keep sickness at bay and from fear, Mercia stared up to her. Leliana's hands were soft, despite callouses and her trade. "Are you sure?" She tried to joke, but her voice fell flat. She closed her eyes tight, brows twitching to the pain pulsing in her skull.

"I'm sure, Inquisitor. You have only-"

" _Stop calling me Inquisitor already."_ Mercia breathed sharply, forcing the elder into silence. One hand left her cheek, Leliana forcing her coat away from herself. " _Please?"_

"If that is what you would like." The elder spoke softly, gently spreading her coat across Mercia's body. The extra layer and her own warmth would help immensely.

"It is." Her eyes were still closed, pain pulling the corners of her mouth down. The heavy addition of Leliana's coat was welcomed with a tremble. She caught a scent; Perfume or merely how the spymaster kept her clothing scented? "You… smell good."

The elder's roughened palm was against her eyes. Leliana was still against her, and mildly, Mercia wondered; had she reacted to that statement? She didn't know, nor could she discover an answer with her eyes covered. Maybe Leliana had purposely done so?

"Spymaster?"

"If I am to call you by your name, you must give me the same pleasure." Leliana chuckled softly, a hint of something warmer in her voice. Her free hand took the cloth again, easing it away from the wound before the pressure doubled.

"Still bleeding, hm?" Mercia felt her skull pulse from the redoubled effort.

She was honestly amazed she was intact still. After all, she had been beaten aside by a giant of all things. Mercia had expected a few broken ribs at least. But all she seemed to have sustained was a bleeding temple.

"It has lessened. But only slightly."

"How long will it take to make the poultice once they return?" Mercia asked, lifting a hand weakly. She set it atop Leliana's which still covered her eyes, thumb absentmindedly stroking along her wrist.

Was this an intimate caress? It felt… not natural, but familiar; As if she and Leliana were closer than they truly were.

Watching the notion quietly, all the spymaster could do was stare. It reminded her of a dark time which she wished to forget. Yet she had to remind herself of who this was. Mercia Trevelyan  _wasn't_ Elissa Cousland. These two people would  _never_ be alike.

Mercia was kind; Not in a way that masked her, but  _truly_. Leliana knew that getting close to the younger woman may be dangerous, but… Could she handle this again?

"...Leliana?" Mercia's thumb paused, fingertips giving a little tap. "Did you hear me?"

"Of course I did." The redhead frowned subtly. She was lost in thought again, holding the cloth calmly to Mercia's wound. What was she going to do with this Inquisitor? Shaking her head faintly, she sighed. "Depending on the skill… an hour at most."

Poultice crafting was a fine art, and took years to master. It involved much more than just throwing elfroot into a bottle.

"An hour…?" Mercia sounded helpless, as if she were nothing but a whining child. She sighed, continuing to stroke Leliana's wrist. Her tongue was heavy again, words slurring into each other. "An hour to keep bleeding."

Didn't they have emergency supplies for this precise event? Perhaps Sera had ended up using them all again? Sighing roughly, she sank into Leliana's thighs. Why was the spymaster so comfortable to lie against? Though she could feel the tense, and developed muscle in Leliana's legs, nothing felt at odds.

Thinking back to the time warp, Mercia remembered what Leliana could do with them. For some reason, she felt her cheeks heat, and she frowned under the redhead's palm.

Leliana quirked a brow down to her, feeling the heat. "Are you too hot?" She asked, about to remove her hand. Mercia held it close, more to conceal her blush than anything.

"No, I'm… still cold." The younger murmured, lifting blindly with her free hand.

"You're sure?" Tilting her head away from the wandering hand, Leliana paused. She watched the palm hesitantly, until pulling back forward. The coarse fingertips grazed her chin, and a thought entered her mind.

When she had been recovering from the Fifth Blight, Divine Justinia had spoken with her. She had told her that the Warden had been a mistake. That eventually the Maker would purge her. But didn't this destroy everything about the Maker? He was supposed to love them unconditionally. But why would the Maker create such a being as her?

The fingers upon her chin trailed to her jawline, and gradually she pushed into them. Leliana felt far too confused. What was she supposed to do?

"You're not hurt, are you?" Mercia asked, the pads of her fingers reaching higher. She cupped Leliana's jaw, grip on the elder's wrist tightening. Her eyes were still covered, and she found this… endearing. To be so close to this woman who had caught her attention was almost dream-like.

Did Leliana know of her idle affection, she wondered? It would be a miracle if she didn't…

No. The spymaster wasn't oblivious in nature. Such a feat would be impossible to imagine, let alone portray. Numerous times this bard had caught her out. So Leliana was more than likely aware of what she was doing.

"I'm not." Did Mercia understand what this route would take? Was this the right path to take? She wasn't stupid- she knew the risk. But Leliana found herself uncaring at the same time.

It was foolhardy.

"But I'm exhausted."

Mercia chuckled softly, the sound catching somewhere in her throat. She clamped her mouth shut, teeth gritting as her body stiffened. Leliana's brows furrowed, and she pressed the cloth against the wound tighter in response. The hand at the older woman's jaw fell, thumping into the dirt.

" _I don't…"_  Mercia tried to speak, but couldn't fit words past bile. She swallowed it back, letting go of Leliana's hand. Eyes opening barely, she turned her head and choked to release bile away from the spymaster.

She was vaguely aware of her hair being guided back. As short as it was, the elder woman still minded it. With a gradual relief hitting her stomach, she weakly exhaled.

The taste was disgusting, and her nose wrinkled in response. Again, her awareness heightened to Leliana. She was moving them away from the vomit gently. The notion never disturbed the Inquisitor's upset stomach. How, she didn't know, but she was grateful.

"' _m sorry."_ Her voice was thicker now, and very soft. She felt another cloth clean at her mouth, her head braced carefully. Had Leliana been prepared if she had vomited? Of course she would have been…

Off in the distance there were voices, but Mercia couldn't understand them. She instead gazed up to Leliana, dazed eyes eventually closing again. She was so tired…

"Inquisitor? Lelia-" Cassandra slipped into the tent cautiously, a disgusted expression casting along her features. She regarded the vomit with a glance, before looking down to the sight before her.

"We found royal elfroot." The Seeker spoke slowly, eyeing the unconscious Free Marcher noble. "Sera is preparing the poultice, much to my regret."

Cassandra cleared her throat, using her boot to trudge dirt to cover the vomit. "Has she awakened since, or did she just empty her stomach?" She cocked a brow, noting Leliana's state of undress.

"She woke." Leliana spoke softly, chuckling low from her chest. "She asked if she was dead."

"She has been asking that a lot lately." Narrowing her eyes faintly, the seeker's suspicions rose. The spymaster hadn't turned to even acknowledge her. The younger woman's attention was solely placed upon Mercia.

Should she be concerned, she wondered? Cassandra wasn't even too sure of this herself. "Sera will have two poultices ready in a quarter of an hour."

"Cassandra?" Before the seeker could take her leave, Leliana spoke again. "Do you think Mercia wants to die? She keeps asking if she has already died… I wonder if she fears death, or welcomes it." Lifting her gaze, if only briefly, she met the older woman's dark eyes.

The Nevarran princess pursed her lips, uncomfortable. "I… do not know." Dark eyes flicked to the Inquisitor's left hand, able to see the weak mark. "Either way, death comes to us all." She stepped from the tent, making a quick escape.

Disapproval. This had been something Leliana would've felt long ago. But although Cassandra was essentially correct, it was the wrong timing. Why would she say such a thing at this point? Looking down to the mark which had recently spread further, Leliana frowned.

She had left Mercia in thin clothing, so the mark was bright. Under cotton, emerald shone, reaching up to the left shoulder.

Tracing over the soft fabric, the spymaster pressed her fingertips down. The mark held little warmth, but seemed to react to attention. Whether that was good or not, she had no clue. Leliana sighed, checking the wound again. The cloth was halfway soaked, and the blood still trickled.

At this point, she lamented not having brought a mage.

* * *

Eyes shooting open for a second time that night, Mercia soon clenched them back shut. It was the cursed tent ceiling again. But this time, it was illuminated in a glow. She shifted uncomfortably against the bedroll she rested against.

Had Leliana moved her, she wondered? Gazing to a stocky candle, it glowed within the darkness. It formed shadows amongst the tent, and she caught sight of another figure. Amongst blankets, she spotted Leliana. The spymaster's back was facing her, and looked to have been there a while. The state of her clothing also seemed to be the same.

Mercia felt less weak at least, raising a hand to her head. She felt thick bandages, and the itchy poultice covering her wound underneath. There was a waterskin near her, and she quickly downed half. The taste of sick in her mouth was thankfully gone; Mercia setting the waterskin away.

Was Leliana truly sleeping? Surely even the Nightingale needed rest. Laying back, the Inquisitor rubbed over the bandages to relieve the faint itching. "...Leliana?"

For a time, there was no reply. The redheaded bard shifted slowly, her arm unhooking from around her torso. She glanced over her shoulder to Mercia, her expression smoothing out from exhaustion. "Yes?" She questioned, prying the blankets from herself.

Instead of that light leather, Mercia noticed the spymaster had taken it off. Instead, she only wore the cotton of her armour. It fit against her slender figure smoothly, crinkling where folds naturally sat. It was… indescribable to Mercia as she watched Leliana.

"What is it? Do you need something?" The spymaster attempted to lure an answer from her, sinking to her side.

"No, I-" Her voice caught, and Mercia coughed to defer the noise. She grasped the waterskin again, taking a sip. "I only wanted to be sure you were… here." She had had a dreamless sleep, but it had been  _different_. Setting the thing away again, the younger woman put a hand to her brow.

The poultice beneath was maddeningly itchy…

She knew she couldn't do away with it though. It wasn't as simple as the waterskin. Perhaps what she truly wanted, was she to get to know Leliana better? Was this it? But why risk such a fragile relationship? Mercia knew how risk-worthy her duty as the Inquisitor was.

But even so… Why did this woman intrigue her so?

"If that's so, I am right here." The spymaster remarked, settling down onto her knees.

"Yes… Thankfully." Mercia chuckled softly, laying herself back. She was doubly grateful that she had waited to heal before spearheading an expedition. Her ribs would have no doubt been broken from the giant's club.

She was less pathetic than earlier, gaze finding Leliana even through the dark. Something still seemed… off about this. "Am I dreaming?"

"Dreaming?" The redhead tilted her head in repeated question. "I wouldn't assume so. Unless I was too." Leliana frowned at her reply, wondering if such a thing had been correct to say.

Had it?

But… the spymaster studied her carefully, a sudden thought coming to mind. If it wasn't death the Inquisitor asked about, it was dreaming? Lifting a hand, she skimmed her fingers to her lips in response.

"Good…" Mercia mumbled softly, closing her eyes again. When they opened, they were less dazed. "I must seem so morbid to you; Asking about death every time I wake?" She gave a weak chuckle, hands folded onto her lower stomach.

"Having been a lay sister, I had come across many things." The spymaster remarked. Leliana had seen her fair share in death- of course she had. During the Fifth Blight, and her short stay in Kirkwall. The Conclave had perhaps hit her harder than the Fifth Blight.

An archdemon or a 'magister'. Which one was worse, precisely?

"Death is an unknown to us. Many fear it, whilst others don't." Leliana continued. She fell into thought once more, musing. Since Haven a month ago, they hadn't seen even a hint of Corypheus.

"Do you fear death?" Mercia spoke, even though she may already know the answer. Leliana had sacrificed herself in that almost-future in Redcliffe… But that didn't mean she didn't fear the consequence.

Doubting herself, the Inquisitor gingerly reached a hand up for Leliana once more. She wanted what they had had earlier; A sense of intimate privacy in the wake of battle.

Was it unfit of her to even suggest such an option? The Inquisitor and the  _Spymaster_? For yearning a connection, more was to always follow. Would having that relation with an advisor be the end of her?

But even so, Mercia was awfully aware of the path she was taking here. She wanted Leliana's opinion on this, but would she dare ask it? Her hand touched against soft skin, and she paused through cautious intention. The palm of her hand pressed against the corner of Leliana's lips.

The bard was ever still. She seemed unsure of herself, and their environment. Bed ridden strands intruded upon sky-blue eyes, and Leliana spoke. "Of course I do. I cannot be aware of our future, if I am to die today. How can I change the world for the better, when I am dead?"

Mercia chuckled, happy at least that her touch hadn't been avoided. "That's a refreshing thought. So many gave their lives at Haven, just to give us time. Our workers, pilgrims… I'm saddened I couldn't save them all." The Inquisitor sighed, not wanting to press her luck. She let her hand fall beside herself, in the space between her side and Leliana's knees.

Silence overtook the tent before the older woman broke it. "What about you? Do you fear death, or do you welcome it?"

"I feared death in the past, but..." Mercia spoke slowly, a hint of surprise catching in Leliana's eyes. "But as the Herald of Andraste… the Inquisitor. I'm far too important with this mark to die." If she wasn't here, the future she had seen would happen.

"That is entirely too true." Leliana's voice was quiet, one hand slipping from her lap. Lithe fingers found Mercia's wrist, and she gently took hold of it. "Do you still have that  _damned_ resolve that you will inevitably give in to it?"

Mercia's chuckle was wry, utterly humorless. "I do."

"Is there any chance I could change that mind?" Why did Leliana care so much, she wondered? She had already lost so much during the past, why would she risk it once more? The spymaster simply couldn't help herself. With this, her shoulders faintly sank.

Maker, who was she kidding here? Herself, or the world?

Mercia gave her a surprised glance, but not one that suggested the elder was foolish. She only seemed to be considering it for a moment, her voice low as she spoke. "I… am not sure. The hero in stories is always ever so resolute to their own fate, but that's only because whoever is writing them has destined them for death, for sacrifice. Is that any different than me?"

The Inquisitor struggled to sit up, if only to recline back on her elbow. "Is the Maker not the one who pens my book, to be cast aside at the end for the good of us all?"

"The Maker has many plans for us. Though he may decide upon our fate, we're the ones to change it through our lives." Leliana replied. Was she speaking from experience? "I believed the Maker had chosen me, at a time. When the Warden had corrupted the Sacred Ashes, I felt cold. Like he had abandoned me." A stricken expression cast along the spymaster for a moment, staring down at Mercia's pillows.

Did the Maker forget his children?

"Perhaps it was the cold that allowed you to survive." Mercia suggested, gazing down to Leliana's hand at her wrist. She sat up further, covering the older woman's hand with her own. "Like you said, the Maker has plans for us." Was she trying to steer the conversation away from the awareness of their intimacy? She hadn't meant to, and yet it would feel awkward to return to it.

When having taken Leliana's hand, the redhead's gaze had shifted to it. The spymaster stared at their interlaced fingers, and frowned. Was this for the best? Surely not? How had she allowed this for so long? Her mind said no, but her heart…?

"You seem conflicted, Sister Nightingale." Mercia gently teased, lips quirking into a weak smile. She pried her gaze from the elder's face, glancing around the tent. It was still so dark; Middle of the night or perhaps very early in the morning? She wasn't sure she could get to sleep again, and yet her weary body begged for it.

With so much having happened in the past few months, she had struggled so much. Whenever it came to sleeping, it simply felt impossible. Mercia would close her eyes, yet an hour later, she was still awake.

With this title spoken, Leliana's attention was fully upon her once more. She opened her mouth, as in to say something, then closed it.

Had she changed her mind?

"Leliana?"

"I don't understand. Blue locked with green, Leliana keeping their gaze set. "What is this between us? What does this mean? I know you aren't oblivious to this, yet I'm still confused."

"I…" Mercia gave a soft sigh, smiling up to her. "You are letting me in close to you, for whatever reason it's yours completely. Me wanting to be close to you, however… Leliana, I find you captivating."

Perhaps… this was her younger self coming back to bite her, Leliana wondered? But it was… different this time, wasn't it? But how, other than the Inquisitor not being- "How so? Captivating?" She was no Andraste.

"You're… beautiful. Soulful, devoted to prayer even with your doubts of the Maker." Mercia seemed to have trouble describing it exactly, forcing herself to sit up completely. "I know you would do anything to further this goal, our goal. The Inquisition would not be the same without you."

The bard broke their gaze, thinking more so. Perhaps her younger self would've had an innocent outburst. But this wasn't the case. Instead, she wet her lips, and regarded the younger woman once more. "Thank you, but-"

"But you don't find me the same? Or, worse, you do but your position of duty would make it impossible?" Mercia took the pseudo-rejection lightly, letting go of Leliana's hand. "Either way, it's fine. I don't think I would have been the right person for you even if the circumstances allowed it."

"Do not assume that-" Leliana's voice had lifted a harsh note, eyebrows knitting in stress. With an interruption, her head shot to the tent exit.

"-Sister Nightingale?" An agent questioned from outside.

Passing a momentary glance down to Mercia, Leliana rose. Her expression bore confusion, but she pushed it aside. Smoothing out her appearance, she headed to him. " _Yes?"_

Mercia lingered on the floor, cheeks feeling hot. Had she… ruined her chances, or just made herself look foolish. She waited, not able to hear the whispering between the spymaster and her agent. No doubt it concerned her, or at least, their team.

" _Giants… - fewer now… - another route."_

Was it safer now?

A few minutes later, the spymaster returned. She allowed the material to brush past her shoulder as she entered. With this, she stood still, and absently fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve.

"Mercia."

"Huh? Oh, yes? Is everything alright?" Mercia gingerly sat up again, one hand to her head. The bandages were getting a little loose from all of her squirming. She kept them tight, palm holding them together.

"With relationships…" The bard murmured, clasping her hands together tightly in front of herself. "I would always jump into the deep end. To end the Fifth Blight, I had joined the…  _Hero_ of Ferelden without a second thought. Then, I didn't have the time to pause and think. I am so unsure of everything."

"We have time." Mercia smiled, beckoning her closer. "Could you fix my bandages, please? Lay your thoughts out verbally, you may feel better." Mercia braced a free hand at her side, keeping herself up.

They no doubt had hours before the sun would rise, and more before they were exploring again. They could spare at least one or two simply talking.

Inching across the small space, the spymaster halted by her. Hesitating, she allowed her arms to drop by her sides. "About what?" She mostly played along, sinking back onto her knees. She leaned behind the Inquisitor, gently undoing the bandages.

"Oh, the weather; How the sun creeps through the leaves of the trees in this place." Mercia teased back as well, chuckling. She stiffened a bit to the close proximity, closing her eyes. "Or, most likely, what we were discussing. I promise you that we have time to… figure it out."

The bard hummed thoughtfully, adjusting the poultice back into position. "I had been expecting you to take fancy in the ambassador." It was truthful for what she confessed. "Saves myself from warning you away." She chuckled lowly, imagining the thought.

"Josephine? If I had, I was fully expecting you to warn me from her." Mercia chuckled, wincing when the poultice was smeared along her wound further. "Josephine… She is nice, entirely far too beautiful for someone stuck behind a desk all day. But, she-" Biting her lower lip and feeling her cheeks redden, the Inquisitor spit it out. "She is not you."

"She is far too innocent for her own good. But I'm…" What had she been about to say? "Broken. After the Warden, the Divine…- It's tiring to continue hoping."

"It is." Mercia agreed softly, leaning back against Leliana. Without the tightness of the bandages, her head started to throb again. "But hope drives us on, even when everything seems against us. If love cannot be found in such a place, can it ever be?"

"Love finds us at the strangest of times." The bard smiled weakly. "Whether intentionally, or accidentally." Was this the latter for their situation? Or was it intentional? She… Leliana didn't know how to feel. She felt her mind parroting these questions. "Love is fragile, but so powerful. It manipulates us into believing something we might not necessarily agree with."

"But…" Tightening the bandages gently, Leliana leaned away from Mercia. We should sleep, no? You should get as much energy as you can for tomorrow." Or was it already tomorrow?

"We should sleep, yes." Mercia was greatly confused by the conversation, but was sure sleep would fix it. Could there be something with Leliana? "Thank you for staying up with me, and for dealing with my wound." The younger smiled, feeling exhaustion creep in deeper.

"And I apologize if I stained any of your clothing."

"Armour can be repaired, and upgraded. A life isn't a suit of armour." The redhead commented, easing from the younger woman. She brushed down her cotton shirt, noticing specks of blood upon it.

Taking no mind to it, she silently smiled to the Inquisitor. "You aren't wanting me to move closer, are you?" She teased, heading towards her own bed.

Mercia flushed, chuckling lowly. "Oh, you're teasing me. What if I said yes?" The younger cocked a brow, her smirk stretching the scar along her cheek.

"Stretching your luck, Inquisitor? Let's hope you play this game properly." Leliana regarded. Slipping back into the cooled blankets of her bedroll, she sighed. "You should know that while a bard may sing pretty graces, she always does so with a dagger up her sleeve."

"There's no dagger up your sleeve, Leliana. I  _definitely_ would have felt it holding your hand earlier, no?" Mercia commented, settling herself to lie fully. Her head felt better, but it would need more time to heal completely.

"A sleeve dagger is a bard's ticket to  _the game_. It doesn't mean I physically have one." A tone of amusement trailed from the elder, Leliana resting onto her back. "A bard is many things. A silver tongue who can destroy you with words alone. I look forward to seeing how a Free Marcher plays it."

Mercia's chuckle was low, but amusement danced within it nonetheless. "A lesser noble would tell you to put that tongue to better use, but I would never sink so low as to give such vulgar innuendos." Staring up to the tent's ceiling, the Inquisitor smirked faintly. "For now, I only wish you sweet dreams…  _of me_."

"You may have to work on your flirting, for one."

* * *

**AN: Muahahahah. Things are getting a bit more interesting, no? I hope you've enjoyed!**


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